Obsidian Night
by HellFire
Summary: Quatre remembers his morbid past...MAJOR Quatre torture, blood, death, madness, stuff like that. Complete
1. Part 1

~ All standard disclaimers apply 

~ All standard disclaimers apply 

~ Warning: Blood, MAJOR Quatre torture, maybe OOC, and of course, angst

~ Note: Takes place after the war. All reviews appreciated, and flames will be my inspiration for future fics (meaning I'll just imagine what I want to do to the flamers and make that happen to one of the characters) Remember the warning and REVIEW!

~ Demons are everywhere –even in me ~

~ Obsidian Night: Part I ~

Quatre stood at the window looking out at the black desert night beyond the glass. It was so dark, black like obsidian. No lights pierced the night in the distance to illuminate the desert blackness. It was so much like that night three weeks ago, too much like that night…

Immediately Quatre banished the thought of that night from his mind; he couldn't let himself dwell on those memories. It would be too much. The memories would drown him, reaching up with dark tendrils and pulling him down into their depths, never again to see the light. Quatre turned away from the window and its view of the oppressing darkness.

He walked in the direction of his room in his house, turning on all the lights in the rooms and corridors he passed through. He knew that if he were caught wandering in the darkness, the awful memories of that night would come back to torment him. Quatre was anxious to get to the safety of his room. An unexplainable feeling of foreboding hung over him, as if his Uchuu no Kokoro was warning him of approaching trouble.

Making it to his room without trouble, Quatre lay down on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was tired, but didn't want to sleep. The war was over and the peace undisturbed, hopefully for a long time. Alone but for the servants in his big house, Quatre found himself missing the company of his fellow ex-pilots.

Without warning the house was plunged into complete and total darkness.

Quatre lay on his bed for a moment, desperately hoping that the power would come back on at any moment. Absently he fingered the scar stretching from his left shoulder to just above his right hip, souvenir of the event of that night. The moments stretched into minutes and Quatre began to get anxious. It was as if the blackness outside had swept into his house, taking over everything. It was so dark and quiet, just like that night not so long ago…

The memories took over Quatre's mind and he was powerless to stop them. Only light would chase away those terrible memories and keep them at bay, like a fire repels wild animals. With the light stolen from him, Quatre could do nothing to stop the waves of memories washing over him, threatening to drown him in their dark depths.

~~~ Memory Sequence ~~~

The night was oppressing and black as obsidian, but Quatre was restless. Despite the hour he thought to walk around the city, just till he got tied. Ignoring Rashiid's fears for his safety, Quatre walked out to his car. It would have been wiser if he had listened to the older man.

Leaving behind the warm safety of his house on the new colony, Quatre drove in the direction of the city lights. It wasn't far; he was there in a few minutes. The hour was late and the streets almost empty. Only a few people were out and about at almost midnight. Quatre parked his car and got out. He wandered the streets looking at the unlit stores and darkened houses.

The garish streetlights illuminated the night in the immediate vicinity. Still, the night seemed dark and heavy beyond the reach of the streetlights, pressing down around him. With his fair skin, blond hair, and light colored clothes Quatre stood out in stark contrast with his surroundings. He didn't realize what an easy target he posed for someone with evil intentions.

Quatre walked on, not paying much attention to where he was going. The houses and stores began to look more rundown, and there were more bars and clubs. With garbage lying around, these streets were in worse condition that the cleaner main roads. Quatre didn't notice he had entered the worst area of the city until he was deep in the heart of it. He was turning around to go back when a small gang approached him.

Although he was new to the area, Quatre could tell that the boys meant him harm. Before he could leave, the gang attacked. He hadn't forgotten what the war had taught him about defending himself. He dodged punches and kicks, only retaliating enough to get the gang to back off. He was fine until the knives were brought out.

Quatre's eyes widened at the sight of the gleaming blades. "What do you want from me?"

They sneered but didn't reply. Instead they jumped on Quatre, using their blades to make him bleed. They didn't cut him deeply, just enough to make his blood drip. Quatre knew they wanted something and needed him alive to get it.

An unseen fist connected with Quatre's stomach, making him gag. While he was doubled over trying to get his breath, one of the gang raised his arm. The handle of a knife crashed down on his head.

Quatre fell to the ground, unconscious and bleeding from the wound on the back of his skull. The gang stood over him, feral smiles on their faces, Quatre's blood on their knives. They bound, gagged, and blindfolded him, then tossed him in the trunk of a car. They drove off leaving nothing to show of the struggle but for a small puddle of Quatre's blood.

~~~

The strong stench of booze and stale vomit pulled Quatre from unconsciousness. The metallic taste of blood was heavy on his tongue from a cut on the inside of his cheek. His arms were extended above his head, suspended by chains. His feet too were chained, preventing him from moving much. The blindfold and gag were still in place.

Strain as he might, Quatre could hear nothing except for his own shallow breathing and heart pounding heavily, the sound loud in his ears. There was a whoosh of warm, musty air against his sweat-dampened skin. To Quatre's immense relief he was still fully clothed. The sound of laughter reached his ears, carried on the breeze made by the opening of the door.

"We oughtta get a lot from this one."

"Yeah. Good thing the Winner boy come lookin for us, steada makin us go lookin for im."

The voices dissolved into laughter once more. Slowly the meaning of those statements sunk in, and Quatre went stiff. They had taken him captive for ransom, not knowing that he had disinherited himself by going off to fight in the war.

What would they do when they found out he was worthless to them? Would they let him go? Or would they kill him, thinking Quatre's disinheritance was a hoax? Exactly who were these people? The questions circulated in Quatre's confused mind. However, his Uchuu no Kokoro told him that he would soon know. He was filled with fear at that thought.

Suddenly they surrounded him, the alcohol in their blood streams making them over-confident. Smelling the foul stuff on their breaths, Quatre felt like gagging. A fist connecting with his gut made his stomach heave and he almost lost his dinner.

He was hit in the head so hard that back of his skull slammed into the solid wall behind him. Stars danced in the blackness before his eyes, melting and merging together then separating once again. Vaguely Quatre was aware of something warm and thick sliding sown the back of his head. The cut from earlier had reopened.

Quatre stood panting and fighting back nausea. He strained to hear a noise that would alert him to their next move, but the loud laughter effectively masked any sound. Sharp pain radiated up from his shin causing him to gasp in pain. Quatre refused to give them any more of a reaction. He knew that if they even suspected how much pain they could cause, they would harm him all the more. Past experienced with OZ had taught him that if he so much as whimpered the attacks would be a hundred times worse.

The kidnappers weren't impressed by Quatre's reluctance to acknowledge the pain. They poked, prodded, punched and kicked at him. The only response they received was when they boy tied to double over, only to be restrained by the handcuffs. They repeatedly hit him in the head. After one unusually hard blow that knocked him into the wall again, Quatre wondered if they had given him a concussion. He didn't doubt it.

This abuse continued until he could hardly breathe and sweat was streaming down his aching body. Quatre refused to show his discomfort, pushing back the feelings of terror welling up inside him. A commotion halted the attacks. Because of the blindfold, Quatre couldn't quite tell what was going on around him. Thankfully, he could still hear. The perspiration clinging to his skin allowed him to know when the air in the immediate vicinity moved.

A gruff voice assaulted Quatre's ears. "Yamero." That one word was heavy with warning, daring anyone to defy the speaker. The voice commanded attention and some odd form of respect. It wasn't as if you were before royalty; it wasn't that kind of respect. This was more along the lines of 'I'm bigger and badder than you so you damn well better do what I say.'

When that one word, yamero, was voiced, all activity stopped. Instinctively Quatre knew this was the boss, the leader of this sadistic gang. All orders coming from this guy would be carried out without hesitation. The others were afraid of their bigger, gruff leader. Quatre could feel their fear, making the room seem too small for comfort.

Heavy footfalls approached Quatre. He could feel the leader's eyes roaming over his body from his arms chained above his head to the blindfold, down the length of Quatre's slightly quivering torso, all the way to his ankles bound in the cuffs. The man's piercing gaze unnerved the small Arabian boy.

"This one's too pretty to be a boy. You sure you got the Winner boy, not one of his sisters?"

A shiver made its way down Quatre's spine. He didn't like the way things were going. The leader's words were laced with scorn for the boy before him, potent with hidden meaning, hinting at things to come. Extremely unpleasant things, if he could trust his Uchuu no Kokoro.

"Well, I guess there's only one way to find out." It wasn't the leader but one of his loyal goons who made that suggestive statement. A tendril of fear snaked its way into Quatre's heart.

"Later." Quatre was tremendously relieved. "Did you deliver the ransom note yet?"

Someone must have replied in the affirmative, but Quatre didn't hear the reply. Too many thoughts circled in his mind, too many questions. He had been right; they had abducted him for money. But they didn't know they would get none. They didn't know Quatre had disinherited himself by fighting in the war. No matter how much his sisters loved him, they wouldn't be able to stop this gang.

Most of the Winner fortune had been donated to charity. Quatre's father had left each of his children enough money to allow each of them to live the rest of their lives, not in the luxury they had lived in before, but pretty close to it nonetheless.

There would be no way to pay the outrageous sum of money that was undoubtedly demanded. He would die unless he managed to escape, on his own or with help, it made no difference. He knew none of his sisters were capable of breaking into this place and getting both of them out, undetected and unharmed.

Briefly Quatre considered the authorities, but no. This gang had probably warned in the ransom note and if the police were contacted they would kill him. That meant he would get no help, unless one of the former Gundam pilots came to his rescue. But none of them would be notified of his disappearance.

Unless Quatre managed to get himself out of there by himself, he would be tortured and killed, this he knew.

A swift, sharp jab to his ribs brought Quatre back to the present. He winced inwardly. The elbow, at least he assumed it was an elbow, had landed very solidly right on a slowly forming bruise. He thought it was from a fist, but it could very well have been from a boot. The earlier brawl had been too fast-paced for Quatre to know exactly what had connected with which part of him.

"-don't look much like a boy." Someone was bent over Quatre, blowing air tainted with alcohol onto his face. "You sure we can't, er, examine him?" The boy in question didn't like the way the word 'examine' was emphasized.

Someone else sighed in exasperation. Quatre heard incoherent mumbling. When someone fumbled with the front of his shirt he pulled back as far as he was able. Despite his efforts they unbuttoned his shirt. Because Quatre's arms were suspended above his head, it wasn't possible to take the shirt completely off unless the shirt were ripped or the handcuffs unlocked. They left the shirt hanging open.

He heard some whispered comments and even a low whistle when his shirt hung open around him. Quatre stood uncertainly, waiting for whatever was next. If not for the fact that he could practically feel their eyes on him, he would have relished this moment of relative peace. The stress was beginning to get to him, and knowing everyone in the room was staring at his chest wasn't helping any.

"Well. Guess you did get the right one."

"You sure we can't look for more, uh, evidence?"

Quatre drew in a sharp breath. They wanted to WHAT?! Even with the blindfold he knew a few, if not all of them were eyeing his crotch. He felt his face grow warm with both that thought and the fury that they would even consider it. They had no right to do that!

But they had attacked him, brought him here against his will, and chained him. If they had done all that just form for money, what was to stop them from doing more? He shouldn't be surprised that they would go so low as to sexually harass him. The words that reached Quatre's ears next eased his fears, if only for the moment.

"No. We just captured him. No need to rush. He ain't goin anywhere."

So Quatre knew he was safe, at least for the moment. However, maybe this was worse. Now he knew one thing they had planned for him, but he didn't know when it would happen. They may decide to "search for evidence" later on today, or maybe they would wait until tomorrow, of the day after.

But when would tomorrow arrive? Quatre had no way of telling the time, or even if it was day or night. If there were windows he wouldn't be able to see outside them because of the blindfold. He didn't even know how long he had been unconscious so he could make an estimate.

Warm air brushed past his arm, still a few degrees cooler than his fair skin. Either the people around him were moving or the door was opening. Quatre hoped that the door was opening to let the people out of the room. He listened intently to the footsteps and was relieved to hear them moving away from where he was tied.

Quatre figured most of the gang members left the room, but he knew a few were left in the room with him. His assumption was confirmed when someone poked him in the ribs.

"So. Looks like it's just you n me till someone else takes over." Quatre was beginning to consider the options available to him when his guard spoke again, almost to himself. "Now, what to do with you?"

Quatre barely had time to register a low chuckle before something connecting with his stomach made him want to double over. The man continued to strike Quatre, a low chuckle coming from his throat all the while. Quatre heard but failed to register the sound. It wasn't until much later that he would realize that this man was only one of the newer members. The others were much worse.

The man punched Quatre square in the face, and the boy could feel the blood dripping. Blood filled his mouth, metallic and salty. He tried to spit it out, knowing that blood is bad for the digestive system. Unfortunately, the gag was still firmly in place, refusing to let the boy rid himself of the blood in his mouth. Quatre couldn't keep the liquid in his mouth forever. Either he forced himself to swallow the salty liquid, or he could try to get the gag to absorb the blood. Quatre opted for the second choice.

He opened his mouth and allowed the blood to seep out onto the gag. Quickly the strip of fabric became soaked with blood. It was heavier than before, and sticky. There was still a little blood left him Quatre's mouth and he swallowed it. He had a feeling that when he got out –if he got out –he would have more to worry about than just a little blood in his system.

Pain skittered up from Quatre's foot marking when a heel ground into his toes. A faint crunch was barely audible as bones broke. In spite of Quatre's training he almost cried out as he felt the bones cracking beneath the heavy boot. Quatre knew he had been through much worse during the war but the pain was still strong.

Since the war had ended Quatre had been taking it easy. There was no longer the need to be ready to fight at any given time, no longer the need to constantly train. Yet Quatre continued to train, knowing there was always a chance that another war would arise along with the need for soldiers.

Eventually the man tired of tormenting the young boy. Because of the blindfold and the pain Quatre could not tell where the man had gone, only that it was somewhere off to his right. He had no idea how long the attack had lasted. Time was irrelevant as was knowing when the sun rose and when it set.

Although he was incredibly tired, Quatre didn't sleep. He told himself that he had to be ready for the next attack. Even if he hadn't stifled the urge to sleep, sleep would have evaded him. The pain from his numerous wounds was enough to keep him awake for days.

What seemed a few minutes later, but could well have been hours later, something happened. Sounds reached Quatre's ears, sounds of boots thudding against the concrete floor and loud voices talking. Then dim light pressed against his eyelids through the rough weave of the blindfold. Even this dim light seemed painfully bright to Quatre's overly adjusted pupils.

A few thin tendrils of fears snaked their way into Quatre's heart. He had no idea of what was going to happen to himself in a few short moments. What was certain was that he was not going to like it, but no doubt his captors would enjoy it. He was not kept in suspense for long.

The sound of a knife being whetted reached Quatre's ears. He prepared himself for the feel of cold, hard steel pressing against his skin, but the feeling didn't come. Quatre's heart thudded in his chest, drowning out the noise of what was going on in the room around him. It was because of this that he failed to hear the sound of a gas torch being turned on.

Perhaps the fear of the unknowing clouded Quatre's mind. He was able to hear a slight, continuous hiss under and between the beating of his heart. A peculiar smell assaulted his nose. It was familiar, yet unfamiliar. A vague memory lurked just beyond the reach of Quatre's conscious mind, teasing him.

Slowly the memory became clear. At first it was veiled, indistinct, shapes and sounds blending in with each other. Gradually the scene became clearer. Eventually Quatre was able to make out the shapes of buildings, red flames rising up to lick at the sky. He remembered screams of pain and terror filling the smoky air, and a strange smell all around.

The smell in the memory and the one that was now permeating the air were the same. Fire, powered by gas. Quatre did not realize the meaning of his realization until too late. But even if he had known what was about to happen there was nothing he could have done. Bound as he was, Quatre could hardly move an inch.

Burning hot metal against his skin brought the Arabian back to the present moment. He fought back a gasp of surprise. The people around him must have noticed because a low chuckle ran through the room. The metal, a knife, Quatre realized, pressed closer to the tender skin on the side of his neck.

Carefully Quatre swallowed, but despite his efforts the hot knife cut into his throat. The feeling of blood dripping was becoming rapidly familiar. The blade was removed; apparently they weren't going to end his life that quickly. Something was rubbed into the fresh wound that stung badly, making Quatre cringe and suck in a breath through clenched teeth.

"Couldn't you come up with anything better than salt in a cut?" The voice was patronizing.

"Well it worked, didn't it? He's in pain!" The second voice seemed defensive.

"That wasn't very original, y'know." Another voice spoke up.

"Like you could do any better?" Quatre became slightly alarmed at that statement.

"Well duh! I'm not an idiot like you."

"You callin' me an idiot?"

The argument continued. Quatre half hoped it would last a long time. The longer the argument, the more time he had. However, the angrier the people, the more they would hurt him. Quatre hadn't been afraid of being tortured by OZ, mainly because he had been able to see the blows coming, so he was able to prepare himself, even if he hadn't been able to dodge the attacks. With the blindfold in place, he would not be able to prepare for the attack.

"Yamero." Again the deep voice of the gang leader silenced his followers. "Tell me, one of you, is his family going to pay or not?"

"I-iie. They, they said-" A growl from the leader put an end to the stuttering.

"What did they say? Someone better tell me!"

"They said they couldn't pay it. He isn't –they said he isn't the heir any more. He's useless to us."

"NANI!?"

Quatre barely felt the wave of fear pass through the room. He was too overwhelmed by his own fear. He had the distinct impression that it was not very smart to upset the leader. The consequences could and very well would be extremely dire.

"They probably lied," Someone else spoke up. "They probably thought we would let him go if we thought he was worthless."

Quatre assumed the leader was considering the worth of the man's words. He had hoped that they would let him go. The moment the follower finished his thought that hope was dashed. From the viewpoint of the leader that suggestion would sound very plausible.

"Send one more message. Tell them that we will kill him if the ransom is not paid by tomorrow noon."

Quatre felt his throat constrict with fear. He would die. There was no way his sisters could pay that ransom. By fighting in the way, he had basically stated that he didn't share the family's ideals. To his father that meant his son was a traitor. He had forbid his daughters to financially help their brother, but he was not so cold-hearted that he refused to let them help him any other way. Quatre knew he was in trouble.

Warm musty air once again brushed against the boy's skin; one of the gang members had left to deliver the leader's message. As soon as he had left the leader spoke.

"And now we'll show you how to properly inflict pain upon someone."

Sounds of scuffling and a muffled yelp of surprise reached Quatre's ears. He braced himself for pain to erupt on his body and the feel of blood sliding down his skin to the floor. Another yelp, this one of pain, almost drowned out the words that came at the same time.

"Don't use a sharp blade; a dull one hurts much more."

"I must admit, the fire was an interesting idea, but it's better alone." Another yelp followed the statement.

When no one attacked him Quatre realized exactly what they meant by showing how to "properly" inflict pain upon someone. Instead of making the person watch while the rest of the gang hurt their captive, they figured "hands on" experience was the best. Torturing one of their own was a drastic method of teaching someone a lesson. Even though he felt a little sorry for the man, Quatre had to admit that he was glad he wasn't the one being tortured.

Although he wasn't the one being physically tortured, every time they struck the man Quatre was pained. His Uchuu no Kokoro was channeling from the other man, bringing some of his pain to the young boy. He sucked in a deep breath. The restraints kept him from grasping the fabric of his shirt, now hanging open, and attempt to alleviate the pain.

Quatre felt it was his fault he felt the other man's pain. He had been glad of the fact that he wasn't the one being tortured instead of feeling completely sorry for the man. Quatre saw it as Allah's way of punishing him for being selfish. It never occurred to him that it was perfectly normal for one to feel relief about the fact that one wasn't being tortured. Even if it had, when had his life ever been completely normal?

Quatre had no idea of how long the gang tortured one of their own. It might have been a quarter-hour or mere seconds. Time was unstable and irrelevant. Time seemed to speed up and them slow down unchecked. It didn't matter how time progressed because there was little to no hope of his being rescued.

Yet he held on to that hope, fragile as it was. There was always a chance, slim though it may be, that one of his sisters had contacted one of the ex-Gundam pilots. If they had even informed Rashiid there was hope of rescue. There was always hope, there had to be hope. For when hope died all life ended.

"Hey, I think our little captive is feeling left out." The voice pulled Quatre from his inner mulling.

He experienced a sinking feeling in his stomach as the gang members crowded around him. Quatre's throat constricted in fear again, making it hard for him to breathe. He could feel their breath hot against his skin, stinking of beer, vomit, and rancid food.

A boot connected with his shin directly on top of the bruise from a previous kick. Quatre sucked in a breath through tightly clenched teeth. Excruciating pain engulfed his right hand unlike any blow previously dealt. A jagged strip of pain began at his left shoulder and worked its way to just above his right hip. Blood gushed from the fresh gash, staining his skin and his pants with the red liquid.

The attack continued, blows coming too fast for Quatre to realize just what was happening. All he was aware of was fiery pain exploding over his body, and every now and then that same pain that covered his hand would appear somewhere else. Fire, his mind slowly supplied; he was feeling sluggish from the blows appearing all round.

Something sharp struck him once again in the skull and he knew no more.

~~~

When Quatre came to he was acutely aware of the throbbing all over himself. Everything hurt, especially his head. A wave of nausea passed over him. Quatre waited until it passed, then shifted his arm. He could feel the rough weave of fabric against his tender skin.

Quatre froze, thought suspended in his muddled brain.

Fabric? Against his skin? But last thing he remembered was being chained in an upright position, arms above his head, blows from an unseen enemy winding him. Why could he feel fabric against his arms, legs?

Had he been rescued? Had someone pulled him from the sadistic gang's grasp? Quatre opened his eyes to see his savior, but found he could see nothing. The blindfold was still in place. Why?

As his brain began to clear Quatre realized he was lying on his back upon a rough material, limbs chained. So. He had not been rescued; his savior had not come. His limbs were chained, eyes blindfolded, mouth gagged, hope of rescue diminished.

When his mind was working again Quatre began to wonder why he had been re-chained on his back. An answer came to mind immediately: rape. They had wanted to look for more so-called "evidence" that he was a boy and they had been presented with the perfect opportunity to do so with little chance of their victim resisting in any way.

Yet his backside was not in as much pain as he expected accompanied rape. Perhaps they had not attempted yet, but they very well might have raped him and the pain would come the moment he moved. Quatre desperately wanted the first to be the case, although he knew the other was just as likely. Quatre let out a small groan; he couldn't help it.

A low voice reminded him that they had never left him unattended since they a first acquired their little prize. "Are you awake yet Little One?"

~ Tsuzuku ~

~A/N: Mwahaha. Yes, I am evil. Major cliff-hanger. Was that Trowa, or just some jerk who decided to call Quatre 'Little One' by mere chance? I know, but I'm not saying a word! Feel free to flame, complain, etc. I'm working on the next part, and hopefully I'll get it up soon. Ja!


	2. Part 2

~ All standard disclaimers apply

~ Warning: See ON- Part 1

~ Note: This is after the war. All the other pilots appear, even Wufei

~ Obsidian Night: Part II ~

"Are you awake yet Little One?"

Quatre froze. Little One? The only person who ever called him that was Trowa… But Trowa wouldn't have hurt him: he was Quatre's best friend, or had been during the war. Although he treasured the time spent with the tall clown, they had not talked since Dekim had been killed.

"Don't give anything away you idiot." The voice was pitched so low that Quatre could barely make out the words.

What was going on? That couldn't have been Trowa; Trowa was his friend. It had to have been someone else, someone else who decided to use that name because Quatre was small. He had grown very little since the war, only 158 centimeters tall now and weighing only 42 kilograms.

The second comment didn't make much sense, but maybe something had happened earlier when he was unconscious, or before he had even been captured. Maybe the second person meant not to show and kindness or anything that could be mistaken for compassion. Quatre didn't know. He discarded the thoughts as useless, figuring he would have much more important things on his mind shortly.

He was right.

Because of is new position Quatre didn't have the benefit of being able to feel the air moving as the door opened or closed. However, he could feel the floor vibrate slightly as people came near, their boots thudding against the concrete. This had the bonus of allowing Quatre to roughly judge how big his opponents were.

Someone rather light on his or her feet approached him. Quatre's breathing quickened, along with his heartbeat. He knew that was bad. It would show his enemies that he was awake, but worse, it would let them know that he was intimidated at the very least. And once they knew for a fact that he was afraid of them… it would give them intense satisfaction when they hurt him.

Quatre knew that when someone is sure they accomplished a goal involving others, if they continue they are more satisfied than when they started. He knew that when he played his violin for an audience, he enjoyed playing more if he knew the audience appreciated the music. That was why Quatre best loved playing his violin when he was playing for himself. However, he did enjoy the knowledge that others enjoyed his music too.

"Oi, mite!" Quatre experienced anxiety when he thought they had noticed his acceleration in breathing. "The poor guy is scared…"

"If he knew what we did to others like him… I can see why he's be scared."

The room erupted into mirthless laughter. Quatre felt his heartbeat triple in fear of approaching torment. Although he was extremely sure that he would be sick at the very least if he heard what they'd previously done, some part of him still wanted to know. Quatre was horrified with that part of him. He failed to realize that the same ZERO system that had caused him to blow up an entire colony and nearly kill Trowa had awakened the part that was curious.

"Come here little guy." Quatre became thoroughly confused. "Gotcha! Hope you've had a good life, cuz you're about to go to where ever chibi nezumi go when they're dead."

Quatre was shocked. They were going to torture and kill a mouse! He had never possessed a particular liking for the animals, but he wasn't for killing them just because they existed, let alone torturing! Despite actively participating in the war and being responsible for hundreds, perhaps thousands of deaths, Quatre hated killing and felt awful when he heard about a death.

A loud squeak of fear and pain made the boy's heart clench, Quatre listened in silence as the mouse continued to squeak, afraid that if he made a sound the sadistic gang would turn their attentions on him. He was ashamed of himself, but still he didn't move. Soon the mouse's squeaks sounded garbled.

Quatre knew what was happening. Blood was coming out of the mouse's mouth, maybe even filling its lungs. He wished they would snap its neck if they had to kill it. At least that way the death would be quick and hopefully painless. But this was a ruthless gang, one that seemed to feed on the pain and blood of others. They would torture anything alive, even one of their own number.

Eventually the mouse fell silent, its cries slowly dying away into silence. For a moment that silence hung in the air, only to be interrupted by laughter. Quatre let a mental shudder run down his spine, careful not to let his horror show outwardly. He ignored the shiver, praying it wouldn't be visible to the eyes of those who captured him.

"Is he awake?" Quatre now felt sure that they were talking about him, not another mouse. "If you aren't, it's time to wake up!"

That was all the warning the boy was granted before a heavy weight pressed his chest forcing the air out of his lungs. Abruptly the weight, which he suspected to be a boot, was removed. Quatre assumed either someone knocked the shoe's owner off balance or they were concerned he was so fragile that he would die if put under too much strain. The truth didn't matter; Quatre was just glad that the pressing weight was gone and he could breathe freely again.

The Arabian boy coughed a few times before his lungs began functioning correctly. He just knew that the gang had grinned to find him awake, although how he had come by that knowledge he didn't know. Quatre didn't have time to ponder his sudden knowledge; the gang began its attack on him the next moment.

For a while, all he was aware of was the assault on his body. Mostly it was the familiar pain of punches and kicks, although every now and then he would experience the sharper pain of metal biting into his flesh or flames engulfing small portions of him. I am going to have such a hospital bill… Quatre thought inanely. It was the sort of remark Duo had been likely to make. The Arabian hardly realized it amidst the pain erupting all over. His mind was so confused he almost couldn't remember his own name, much less the name of someone he hadn't spoken to in ages.

A particularly hard punch made Quatre think they were aiming to make him a permanent part of the floor by brute force. He fought back the urge to succumb to the darkness of unconsciousness. Staying conscious and as alert as possible was a good idea in a place like this. One never knew if one would be raped or murdered while one was unconscious, and Quatre was determined to get out of this place alive and still a virgin.

The thought of rape was a nasty one. Thankfully Quatre wasn't a girl. Therefore the possibility of conceiving a child who would remind him of the event was obviously out of the question. However, the scars it would cause, both physical and psychological, would be painful. Quatre didn't want to live out the rest of his life, short though it may be, living with the memory of an event like that.

All this flashed through his mind in the space of a heartbeat. Considering how his heart was beating at the time, that was a relatively quick thought. Another blow winded him, leaving the boy gasping for breath. The people around him laughed yet again, apparently amused by the sight of the young Arabian lying chained on the ground, gasping for air.

Unfortunately, it didn't keep Quatre's assailants from continuing their attack on the boy. They continued to laugh, drawing great pleasure from repeatedly hitting the restrained form and watching others strike the afore mentioned form. Quatre himself simply endured. This was incredibly similar to that time he had been captured by OZ and tortured. He had survived that, now he would survive this.

But that time he had known the other pilots would save him. He had been taken while Deathscythe Hell and Wing Zero were on the same battlefield as Sandrock kai. Apparently Duo had seen Sandrock being taken to the nearby Libra because the American pilot had saved him. (-_-;; OK, so that didn't actually happen…This is my fic peoples, thus my word is law, or something ^_^;;)

With a sinking heart Quatre realized his friends would not be saving him this time around. All he could do was pray that the Magunacs came to his aid, and soon.

Eventually the punches and kicks slowed. Quatre assumed they were going to break for sleep. Had the day passed so quickly though? Half of him wished it was true, but the other half hoped it wasn't night already. Night meant a slight break in the pain, but it also meant he had only until noon the next day to live. Quatre was sure they weren't joking when they had said they would kill him at noon.

So when the talking didn't diminish he experienced a strange mix of relief and disappointment. Apparently they were only taking a small break, probably for food. This new suspicion was confirmed as sounds of eating and drinking registered in Quatre's brain, and the scent of food and beer wafted to where Quatre was tied.

Despite the fact that the food and drink smelled horrible, he became aware of his hunger. Before, the pain of the violence had distracted him rather effectively from the rumbling in his stomach. The last time he had eaten was two nights ago…or had it been three? He didn't know. All that mattered now was that he was ravenously hungry and incredibly thirsty. There was probably no chance of getting anything to eat of drink anytime soon.

Quatre lightly chewed his tongue, remembering that doing so makes the saliva glands work more. This staved off his thirst a bit, although it did nothing to help his hunger. Al least his throat wasn't bone dry anymore.

All too soon the gang finished their meal. As they crowded around him again, Quatre uselessly thought, Don't they know you're supposed to wait a half-hour before doing any activities? Either they didn't know or they didn't care. It really failed to matter because they resumed their attack on the boy without moment's hesitation.

It was getting old, really. It was the same hour after hour for Allah only knew how long. Sure, the places he was kicked or punched varied, but essentially it was the same. Quatre ended up in pain, while his tormentors enjoyed themselves. It was beginning to seem as if life had always been like that, as bad as it sounds.

But who could get used to near constant pain? Well, the former Gundam pilots, for starters. Heero seemed immune to any feeling, painful or otherwise. Duo had lived on the streets for the first years of his life, and then he survived loosing those who were dear to him on L2. He probably still carried that pain hidden within him somewhere.

Trowa, grown up on the battlefield, a soldier with no real name, being forced to witness and be the cause of so many deaths from such a young age… And Wufei. Quatre didn't know the particulars, but from what he had picked up, the Chinese boy had once been married, but his wife died during a battle. Wufei took her death harshly, still carrying he memory with him.

Quatre himself, even he had known extreme pain. Money does not buy happiness, and he knew that for a fact. First believing he was a test-tube baby, then witnessing his father's and one of his sister's deaths the same day… The memories of that awful explosion that had taken his father from him, then the shock wave that had sent Quatre hurtling to the back of the shuttle, Iria softening the blow with her own body, giving her life for her younger brother…

Quatre lived every day with those memories, along with those of countless battles, innumerable deaths, and now having to live with these new memories. He could take the physical pain. It was the emotional he was worried about. So much had been his fault… If only he had done something…

He drifted back to the present moment, the gang beating him, the pain once again becoming real. While he had been remembering, the physical pain hadn't been as intense. He had retreated within himself, the pain receding to a low pulse, terrible in its own way but more manageable. Now it flared up again, claiming his full attention.

Quatre had no idea how time progressed he was dreading the coming of the hour when the majority of the gang would bed down leaving only a few awake, yet he also longed for it. Neither feeling was stronger than the other, and Quatre remained in conflict with himself.

Time continued on, steady or no, but always in one direction: forward. Quatre knew as much, just as anyone not a moron knew. So he was prepared for the time to come for the majority of the gang to leave. And still he was undecided about whether or not he was glad that time had come around. He shoved it to the back of his mind; there were more important matters at hand.

Like why he wasn't being hit at the moment. Yes, he enjoyed the change, but it made him nervous. Was anyone even left in the room? A slight shuffle answered that question. Next: why wasn't the person striking him? Quatre's guard the last time had seemed very interested in what to do to him while alone in the room with the Arabian.

And, an inane as it may seem, how in the name of Allah was he supposed to stop that annoying drip of blood? It tickled him, yet there was no way he could wipe it away. How utterly annoying. In the worst of situations the smallest things appear to be the hardest to ignore. He did his best.

Quatre nearly sighed. His mind was over-analyzing again. Maybe he should just be grateful for the momentary respite from the torture. He had gone without sleep for far too long. Perhaps he should throw caution to the wind and dare to sleep.

That was his last thought before unconsciousness claimed his mind, and the exhausted boy dropped into a dream filled sleep.

Nightmares crowded Quatre's subconscious mind. Mysterious shadows laughing as they slowly tortured him to the brink of death… The three Fates from ancient Greek mythology grinning as they cut the thin strand they held that was his very thread of life… Vivid explosions of red against the black night, turning the obsidian-like darkness to a blood red that dripped, staining whatever it touched…Visions of his friends being tortured as he himself had been tortured, Quatre helplessly watching, unable to help.

Needless to say it was a rather restless night for Quatre.

When he woke he was covered in a fine layer of sweat, and he was panting slightly. He also realized he had been moved again. Now he seemed to be back in his former position of standing, arms and legs chained apart tightly. Although Quatre wondered why he had been moved again he received no answer. He paused in his musings as footsteps approached.

They came from his side instead of his front, so he assumed they had turned him 90 degrees for some reason. A small voice whispered to him that it would be rather easier for them to rape him in this position, but he pushed that voice away. His body tensed, ready for the blow whenever it was dealt.

It came, as expected. A fist landed solidly on the small of his back, causing Quatre to arch away. By now his Uchuu no Kokoro had given up attempting to send the boy messages of impeding danger. The boy was quite aware of it, and the intense pain that accompanied the danger. And he knew enough to prepare himself for additional pain and torture.

A kick rammed into his side and he gave a tiny whimper of pain. He felt a crack and wouldn't have been surprised to learn he now had a broken rib or two. He had a couple of broken toes already. Why not add broken ribs to the growing list of various injuries?

And it was a rapidly growing list, too. Numerous bruises, burns, and lacerations marred his flesh, showing up brightly against his pale skin. Add to that the swelling caused by the broken bones… The result was not a very flattering picture of Quatre.

Already he knew his first attacker was joined by a second. Soon enough a third joined in. Then came the rest of the gang. Quatre lost count of how many there were as others' body parts came into contact with his. Sometimes they'd swipe at him with a blade, or catch him with a flame.

Ah, new day, new torture. How wonderful.

And today he would die if help didn't arrive before noon.

While in the war he had known that he was expendable. He had become a soldier, a person who risked his life willingly and daily. He had been willing to kill himself if it would bring about peace to the colonies and Earth. After the war had ended he had begun to value his life a little more. And he wondered what it would be like to live as a person with feelings, not a soldier.

But if help refused to come, he would never know. He would never again know what it was like to live a happy life, never again know the meaning of having fun and just relaxing. Quatre knew that, as a soldier, he was not expected to have such desires. But the war was over! He should be able to experience those things, like a normal teenaged boy. However, the Fates saw it more amusing to torment him like this, with memories and desires that would never again be his.

So involved was he in his inner thoughts that he hardly noticed when the physical pain ceased. By the time he did notice it was too late.

Quarter gasped as he felt hands groping and fumbling with his belt buckle. No, please Allah no! They couldn't –warm air brushed against bare skin as his pants and boxers were lowered at the same time. The sound of a fly being unzipped reached the boy through a haze of disbelief and terror. Warm hands gripped his hips and held them steady while something hard pressed against his opening.

They were going to rape him.

Tears pricked Quatre's eyes. How could they do this? A high-pitched sound came from the boy's throat. He couldn't help it. They were about to rape him… As if the physical torture hadn't been enough, they had to go and sexually harass him too?

It seemed as if Quatre's thin wail of despair provoked the man standing behind him. Abruptly the boy felt a searing pain in his backside, tearing him apart. He screamed, unable to control even his thoughts. The world faded into fiery pain, red and black and white.

Quatre continued to scream, voice filled with pain, self-loathing, and horror. How long this lasted he could not honestly say. All that existed for him was the disbelief, the pain, the terror, and the awful feeling of degradation. Something incredibly precious had been stolen from him, and there was no way of retrieving it.

He vaguely felt the blood sliding down from his backside, down his legs to stain his paints crumpled around his ankles. Soon however, a welcome numbness crept over his body, blanketing and protecting Quatre from the physical pain. The emotional pain was left alone to torment the poor boy with the realization of what was happening to him. Desperately he tried to ignore the voices that were sneering at him, taunting him. They continued despite the boy's weak protests.

A hand grasped his face and roughly jerked it up. Quatre barely realized when the gag was removed. He continued to scream, not that anyone cared. The blindfold was yanked down. The amount of light pouring into Quatre's eyes all but blinded him. New pain raced along his nerves. He tried to close his eyes against the glare, but someone forced his eyes open, vulnerable to the white light. White was all he could see.

Slowly he began to recover. Although pain still poked at Quatre's eyes, he was able to make out vague shapes at the corners of his vision. Frantically he began to gulp air, impatiently waiting for his eyes to become accustomed to the painful amount of light assaulting his eyes.

When he could see somewhat better he looked to the person who still had a firm grip on his chin. Quatre gasped, shock and disbelief showing in his aquamarine eyes. Glittering blue-violet eyes ones gazed back.

Duo.

Another burst of pain broke through the numbness, jolting the boy back to reality. How many times had it been already that he was brought back to the present by pain? It didn't matter. Agony once again consumed Quatre, overcoming the feeble shield he had tried to set up.

Duo smirked, and then crushed his mouth against Quatre's. The Arabian gasped in surprise. Bad move. Duo took advantage of the open mouth and plunged his tongue in, licking and exploring the other's mouth. Only when Quatre seemed ready to faint from lack of air did the longhaired boy back off. He turned his head, spitting onto the ground.

Meanwhile, Quatre had been trapped in his own personal Hell. Nothing seemed to make sense. He was kidnapped, tortured, raped, and then kissed by his –no, not friend. A friend couldn't do this to him. Were the other ex-pilots her too? Had they taken a role in his rape also? Surely not –but Quatre would never had thought Duo would do anything this…insane! What was happening? What had happened to turn his whole world upside down? Was this just some awful bad dream he was trapped in?

If so, he had to wake up soon, safe in his own bed, own house, own world, right? But how could this be merely a dream? Never in his life had Quatre imagined he would dream of being tortured and raped by the other ex-pilots. They were –had been– his only true friends, friends who understood him, cared about him, to some degree. So this had to be some crazy dream, right?

"Nope," Quatre focused on Duo. "This isn't a dream. This is reality."

No! Allah save me! Quatre felt dizzy and numb with dread. When the man behind him released the small boy he barely noticed. His eyes darted around the room, seeing mostly unfamiliar people, until he reached a small group across the room. His friends. No, they were friends no longer. Only enemies could do this to someone they had once known, worked with, spoke with, even spent occasional weekends with.

"Doushite…?" Quatre croaked out, voice feeble and trembling.

"Who told you to speak?" Heero approached, eyes gleaming dangerously. Duo giggled as Heero slapped Quatre hard enough to snap the boy's head to the side.

"Why what? Why're we doing this to ya?" Duo read the affirmation in Quatre's eyes.

"Ch'." Wufei joined the other three. "It was your own fault. You brought this upon yourself. When you are dead justice shall be served!"

"Nani? You guys-" Quatre was interrupted by Duo's wordless shout.

"You're too innocent! Even after the war you're still innocent. Even now you're still innocent… no blood stains your hands, you aren't tainted like me… You're not…affected… Even after I touch you, you aren't infected…" His voice trailed off as he crumpled to the floor, arms hugging his lithe frame as he rocked back and forth.

Heero glanced down at the rocking form of the self-proclaimed Shinigami rocking on the ground, hugging himself. When he looked back up at Quatre the blond boy felt a chill run down his spine. A manic shine brightened the cobalt blue, and something frighteningly close to resembling a smile adorned the mouth, twisting it grosquetely.

"Omae o korosu." There was an almost light tone to those words. Heero seemed too excited at the prospect of killing Quatre for comfort. "Zero showed me one last thing before it crashed. That was you, dying. I was standing over you, looking down. My gun was in my hand." Heero smiled almost wistfully.

"Zero screwed with your brain, Heero." Duo muttered from his position on the floor. "I told you Zero'd make him crazy."

"No! Please don't –Trowa?" Quatre gazed desperately at the tall boy.

One emerald eye glittered, the other hidden by spiky brown bangs. He looked back at Quatre for a moment before looking away. In that moment Quatre had seen hidden desire, deep sorrow, immense self-loathing, and the pain of rejection. Pain Quatre himself had placed there, pain that hadn't faded with the passage of time.

It had been a nice day, sun streaming through the open windows. Quatre had been playing his violin when Trowa entered. He had seemed more guarded and nervous than usual. Quatre had paused to ask what was wrong. Then it happened.

Trowa said he loved Quatre.

Time seemed to freeze. Quatre stared at his taller companion, shocked into silence. Trowa himself seemed extremely uncomfortable and prepared to be put down. However a small spark of hope shone in his eyes. It was a hope Quatre had had to extinguish.

Yes, he loved Trowa, but not in the same way as the emerald-eyed boy said he loved him. All Quatre felt for Trowa was the love of a brother, same as with the other boys. And he had said so. He'd felt bad when Trowa replied with a quiet wakatta, then left. That was the last time Quatre had seen him. There would be no happy yaoi ending to their story.

"Enough! You others, get out!" Wufei ordered the group of followers. "Now justice shall be served! Nataku, give me strength!"

Quatre felt his eyes widen as Wufei raised his katana. Before he could strike, the katana was shot out of his grasp by Heero's gun. Heero was glaring at Wufei, eyes shining unnaturally, a terrifying smile curving his mouth upwards.

"Oh justice will be served all right. However, I shall be the one to exact it."

"Oi, Heero! I wanted to be the one to kill him." Duo whined, producing a metal scythe, wooden handle magnificently carved.

"I'll settle this." Trowa interrupted, pulling his own gun and aiming it at Quatre's heart. There was sorrow and pain in his visible eye, but they were quickly overcome by rage born of that same pain.

"Gomen nasai, Trowa." Quatre found himself saying. "I didn't realize it would hurt you so much."

Trowa's eye widened visible, the narrowed. His finger tightened on the trigger. Quatre closed his eyes, prepared to the final bullet, the shot that would end his life. A shot rang out. Quatre's jaw clenched…

Two sharp cries of pain cut through the air, starling Quatre. The pain was in his shoulder, not his chest as expected. He opened his eyes to see Trowa clutching his right hand, blood dripping into the black steel of the fallen gun. He, along with Duo, Wufei, and Heero, had his eyes trained on the far door. Looking at the door Quatre felt his heart leap with joy at the sight before him.

The entire Magunac core was there, on foot because all the mobile suits had been destroyed along with the war. The 40 men carried rifles, aimed at the four unbound former Gundam pilots. Rashiid's gun was slightly smoking, signifying that he was the one who had shot Trowa. Looking at his 40 saviors, Quatre then remembered his pants and boxers were still around his ankles, the blood from earlier…events drying on his legs. He blushed a furious red.

"Disarm yourselves at once." Rashiid commanded, aiming his gun menacingly at the four boys.

Trowa narrowed his eyes but kicked his gun away from him, toward the 40 older men. He knew what they were capable of if provoked and did not wish to be the object of that attention. Duo also knew what the Magunac forces could do and slid his metal scythe across the floor. Wufei hesitated, unwilling to give up so easily.

Running across the room to the Magunacs Wufei raised his katana. He was remarkably fast and managed to get a slice in before the Magunac he was attacking fired his gun. At point blank the bullet was powerful, its force throwing Wufei away from the man. Weakly he muttered something about injustice and apologized to his dead wife for failing her. He closed dark eyes and didn't move.

Heero had no plans of dropping his beloved gun and leaving him vulnerable to any attack. He seemed determined to make his vision of Quatre lying dead become a reality. He proceeded to empty the entire clip in the general direction of the chained boy.

As soon as he began firing his pistol the Magunacs went into action. Several of them moved to intercept the bullets, while others opened fire on Heero. He was shot in the shoulder, the force of the impact half turning him around. Another bullet caught the Japanese youth in the leg, causing him to fall. Still Heero refused to give up. He launched himself at the gun Trowa had dropped. Bullets hailed around him. It didn't stop the boy. Ever the Perfect Soldier, he ignored the bullets and grasped the gun. He fired at the Magunacs around him, evil smile contorting his face. When the gun clicked empty, Heero again dived, this time for Duo's scythe.

However, Duo was faster. He had gotten to his discarded scythe before Heero. He faced the Japanese boy wielding his scythe dangerously. Heero didn't care. Snarling like a wild animal he attacked Duo. Somehow he knocked out the American and gained control of the scythe. Without hesitating even a fraction of an instant he plunged the bright blade into the braided boy's chest. Duo didn't move again.

He was determined not to get caught, anyone could see that. Perhaps his overly analytical brain told him that he was piteously outnumbered and didn't have much of a chance. In his current state though, that was highly doubtful. Whatever the reason, Heero decided to take action. One instant he was surrounded by Magunacs, still with a death grip on Duo's scythe. A flash of silver, and Heero's head fell to the floor, feral smile still plastered on his face even as his eyes lost their gleam and he died.

Despite the Magunacs' efforts, Quatre had still been shot. Fortunately Heero had not had very good aim when he shot at Quatre, thus no vital parts had been struck. However, one bullet had entered his stomach, and another cutting clean through his side. A bullet had grazed his arm, and many had hit his legs, almost causing Quatre to fall.

After demanding the keys to the handcuffs from Trowa, the only living ex-pilot who had attacked Quatre, the Magunacs unlocked the young master. Gently smiling, Rashiid helped Quatre restore his pants to their proper position. Quatre welcomed the help; Rashiid was like a second father to him.

When he, the Magunacs, and the enslaved Trowa passed through another room, Quatre was shocked. Prone bodies littered the cement floor. They were the ones Wufei had sent away, the ones who had raped him. He shuddered. Did they really deserve to be dead? Even after what they had done Quatre still didn't feel it right that they be dead.

As if sensing the thoughts of the boy he was supporting, Rashiid said, "No, they're not dead. Sleeping gas."

Quatre nodded, much relieved.

He had gotten out alive, survived the lonely days spend in a bed, whether it was his own or a hospital's made no difference. He had sustained many injuries, although many were less serious than he had expected them to be. His ribs were only bruised, not broken, although his toe had been broken. The bullet wounds had healed, leaving only small scars to mark their presence. In the end, the injury that appeared the worst was the scar traveling from his left shoulder to just above his right hip. That scar never healed completely.

Quatre's sisters constantly visited. They genuinely worried about their younger brother. They all had their own lives though, and couldn't stay with him as much as they liked. When they had left him, Quatre found himself surrounded by terrifying memories of all that had happened in the not too distant past.

When he had been released from the hospital his sisters took him to a psychologist to help him deal with his heavy memories. The sessions helped, and soon Quatre could venture out on his own, although he rarely did so. He was able to stay out of the awful memories' grip as long as there was light. Now he even slept with the lights on in his room.

Realizing they could help Quatre no longer, the Magunacs reluctantly left, headed back to their home at last. Before they left, Quatre asked how they had known about his imprisonment. Rashiid replied that he had been with some of Quatre's sisters when they received the strange message about the hostage.

Rashiid himself was extremely reluctant to leave Quatre, but the young Arabian waved him off, saying Rashiid hadn't seen his hometown for ages and that he would be fine. The older man finally agreed to taking a vacation, although he was determined to get back to the young master as soon as he was able.

Thus Quatre was alone in his big house when the power went out and the memories came flooding back. No one heard him scream.

~~~

Rashiid entered the house that belonged to Quatre. It was early, but he was worried about the young boy. After all that had happened he shouldn't be left alone.

He traveled through the big house, expertly navigating the location of Quatre's room. Knocking, he was puzzled when he received no response. Usually Quatre was awake by now…

Carefully the tall man pushed open the door He was greeted by the sight of Quatre huddled in the corner, shaking terribly. When he saw Rashiid the boy began to scream shrilly, eyes large and wild in his pale face.

Rashiid wasted no time in calling one of Quatre's sisters. He tried to calm the nearly hysterical Quatre, but anytime he approached the boy he shrank back, screaming louder. Just as Rashiid was tiring of this a few men burst in, took one look at the now hysterical Quatre, then strapped him down to a cart. 

The sister Rashiid had called was crying downstairs. She explained they were taking her brother to an asylum where they could hopefully help him. She had hoped it wouldn't come to this. After all, he seemed to be truly getting better for a while…

~~~

White walls. White, soft walls. So unlike those walls and floors that haunted his memories. These walls were now his whole world, along with his new white jacket. The arms were forever wrapped about him in a perpetual hug. He had the feeling they were supposed to keep him from getting out, but they had obviously not been made for a former Gundam pilot. Quatre could get out of them easily enough.

He perked his ears. Someone was coming. Judging by the footsteps it was more than one person. He strained to hear the words coming through the padding of his world.

"I'm terribly sorry, but no one is allowed to see Mr. Winner until he has improved."

"So it's true. He really has gone insane?"

Quatre frowned at the words. He was not insane. He was perfectly fine. They were the ones who were insane if they thought him insane.

But then why the padded room? Why the hugging jacket? Why wasn't he allowed to see other people besides the old nurse who force-fed him the food? Was he really insane? Is that why he was here? Because he was insane?

No! He was not insane! He couldn't be! Insane people were crazy, insane people made no sense. He wasn't crazy, and he made perfect sense. He was not insane.

The sound of a key in the lock caught Quatre's attention. Food time! He could ask the nurse of if was insane. When he voiced his question she merely laughed. 

"Yep honey, yur insane, jus like evrybody else in dis nut house." She went on cutting Quatre's food.

Her ease at saying he was insane infuriated him. No, he was not insane! Before he quite realized what he was doing he had gotten out of his strait jacket and tackled the old nurse. He grabbed the knife.

"I am not insane." He calmly intoned as he rammed the blade home.

Quatre blinked. What just happened? Did he really just…yes. He had just murdered an innocent woman. Allah, I must really be insane, Quatre thought, horrified. I can't let anything like this happen again. I must stop it.

Before he could back down, Quatre sliced his wrists. Not just cut the skin. He really sliced his wrists, almost clean through. He fell to the ground, pain numbing his mind.

Yes, he deserved that pain. He deserved every drop of it. He had been the cause of all this. He had caused Heero's instability, Trowa's pain, Duo's anger, Wufei's strange obsession. He had caused his sisters' suffering, Rashiid's worry, his father's death.

Now he must kill himself, rid the world of his evil.

Quatre watched the blood flow from his wrists, staining his white padded cell, the puddle of red was growing, tainting everything it touched. Duo had been wrong; he was tainted, tainted beyond belief. He would leave the earth and colonies, so he would not contaminate anyone else. The end was approaching.

He felt himself drowning, spiraling down into the void, dark as obsidian. Never again would he walk the earth or the colonies, never again be the cause of someone's pain. He would free the universe as he freed himself…

Then he realized his folly. He would not free anyone with his death. He felt ashamed. He had taken a path to unknown places, and couldn't turn back. Only now did he realize it would cause pain to those back in the mortal realm, and endless torment for him.

He fell into oblivion, the darkness swallowing him whole. He was dead but had not achieved anything for his suffering but more pain for those dear to him and for himself.

This thought would torment him for the rest of eternity.

~ Owari~


End file.
